Writing about not writing

When I bought this domain and decided to blog again I began writing down topics that I would like to cover I put them in a list organized by week. I even varied by topic, and tone. I keep opening the document when I have a spare moment to add whole topics, or just notes to it.

But I haven’t written here in two weeks. I don’t really buy into New Year’s resolutions (I consider the start of my year Winter Solstice) but there is a sort of collective energy in the air that encourages new projects. The television is still running diet aides and gym memberships with all of the high gloss of ‘starting a new year right’ but I am settled in a little bit into avoiding creative space. It would be easy to blame the house right now – we are in a state of repair which means we are sleeping on the floor, getting dressed in the living room, and in general spending too much time discussing such fun things as carpet and contractor quotes. But I purposefully avoid my office. Suddenly cleaning dishes is way more interesting, or three hours of Minecraft seems like a totally valid creative outlet. I have about 25 knitting projects queued up on Ravelry, and I swear to god I started brewing my own kombucha over writing.

I used to love writing.

I cannot tell if school or my day job (both requiring high volumes of dry technical and corporate sounding writing) have sapped my energy for this work, or if it requires the same kind of emotional work as a healthy relationship. When I write I sit in my office- quiet and centered. Incense will burn, source books surround me in piles growing in height as I become more passionate about the topic.  Instead my desk is litered with receipts, items to return at the store and a pile of papers sits on the floor – the last victim to my cat Abacus’ tantrum over being locked in here during a construction day. I feel her pain. Maybe I just need to toss everything to the floor while shouting ‘clean surfaces’ like Edina from Ab Fab.

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